


The Wind-Born

by Higuchimon



Series: Windchild [1]
Category: Digimon Frontier
Genre: Character Diversity Boot Camp, Collect the Legendary Warriors, Digimon Non-Flash Bingo, Diversity Writing Challenge, Gen, Monthly Restrict, Novella Masterclass Challenge, Random Restrict Competition, Snakes & Ladders In Writing-Land
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-11-11 12:09:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11148099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Higuchimon/pseuds/Higuchimon
Summary: I don't know who I am.  I don't remember if I've ever known who I am.  But I will find my answers, no matter who stands in my way or what I have to do in order to get my memories back.  And for every answer I find, it only raises far more questions.





	1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Wind-Born  
 **Characters:** Izumi|| **Pairing:** N/A  
 **Chapter Word Count:** 1,053|| **Story Word Count:** 1,053|| **Chapter Count:** 1/12  
 **Genre:** Drama|| **Rated:** G  
 **Challenge:** Diversity Writing, I11, 9-14 chapters; Novella Masterclass (Frontier): Random, no male characters; Random Restrict: do not use he or she in the story; Word Count Set Boot Camp, #32, 15,833; Collect the Legendary Warriors: Izumi/Spirit of Wind; Character Diversity Boot Camp, #34, alone; Bundle of Horrors, #37, air; Snakes  & Ladders in Writing Land, write in the present tense; Monthly Restrict: do not use he/she; Digimon Non-Flash Bingo, #380, shivering  
 **Notes:** This is an AU. For the full particulars of that AU, read onward.  
 **Summary:** I don't know who I am. I don't remember if I've ever known who I am. But I will find my answers, no matter who stands in my way or what I have to do in order to get my memories back. And for every answer I find, it only raises far more questions.

* * *

I don’t know where I am. I can’ t see more than the length of my arm ahead of me. The snow and wind just keep blowing and blowing. I’m scared to keep walking, because I could fall, and I’m even more scared not to, because don’t people die when it’s too cold and they don’t keep warm? Walking is the only thing that keeps me warm. Or close to warm, I don’t think I _am_ warm. I don’t think I ever will be again. 

I want to think I will be, but it’s hard to tell anymore. Anyway, I keep walking. I’ve really got nothing else to do. 

I wish that I did. I wish that I knew more about who I am and where I’m going. But I don’t. All I know is the wind and the cold. 

The wind is nice. Well, it isn’t that nice. It’s loud and it’s strong and it keeps banging at me, blowing the snow all around, but I don’t think the wind wants to hurt me. 

That’s really weird to think. I don’t know much else, but I know that. The cold probably doesn’t either, but it’s not like the wind. The wind is different. 

I don’t want to think that the wind talks to me. But sometimes when I bend the right way, when the wind is loud enough, I think it would if it could. It’s so _loud_ and there are words I can’t catch in it. 

I think they’re words, anyway. I’m not sure. I don’t think I remember hearing words. 

I really don’t remember anything. I mean, I know what snow and ice and wind are. I know what falling is and that I don’t want to do it. I know that words exist, but I can’t remember anyone talking to me. I can’t remember what the sound of my own voice is like. 

That’s mostly because I haven’t tried talking, because there isn’t anyone here to talk to, and I don’t think it would do a lot to just shout into the wind. 

Though maybe if I did, it would talk back and I could understand it? 

I guess it’s worth a shot. What am I going to lose if it doesn’t work? There’s no one around here to stare at me. 

I’m not sure if I’d care if there were people around to stare at me. At least if there was someone here, I could talk to them. Maybe. 

Well, I’ll try. 

“Is anyone there? Anyone?” I raise my voice as loud as I can, but the wind snatches it out of my throat and bounces it around and it doesn’t really do anything. Only a faint echo and nothing more. Not even a hint of someone out there listening. 

I guess that’s all right? Or not? I don’t know these things. 

I keep on walking, though, because I _really_ can’t do anything else. I have to find a place where I can rest sooner or later, but I don’t have the foggiest idea of where it’s going to be. Would I even recognize a place to get warm if I saw one? 

I like to think I would. I like to think a lot of things, but that’s mostly because right now, I don’t have anything else to do but walk and think and if I stop one I might stop the other and I’m pretty sure that would be a really, really bad idea. 

So I just keep on walking and I try to look through the wind and snow and I’m not doing a very good job of it. 

I still think I can hear voices, but they don’t belong to anyone I know: not that I can remember anyway. They’re not even proper voices saying something; it’s just kind of howling and noise and nothing that might be a name. 

Do you have any idea of how weird it is to know that if someone called you by your name that you wouldn’t recognize it? That you wouldn’t know if someone tried to talk to you? They could be talking to that person over there. 

Just because there aren’t any people over there doesn’t make it any better. They could just be talking to someone that I can’t see. 

Because all I can see right now is the wind and the snow. The snow, at least. I don’t think anyone has ever been able to see the wind. 

The way it sorta tugs at me makes me wonder what the wind wants, though. The more that I keep going, the more I’m sure that it wants something. Okay, maybe it’s just me being weird. If I knew what weird was. Maybe I can understand the wind. 

At least I sort of think that it’s trying to get me to go somewhere. It’s still cold. It’s still got a lot of snow blowing around and I can barely see in front of my face. 

So I’d better get going and see where the wind wants me to go. It’s got to be a little better than just walking on and not really getting anywhere. 

I think I can trust the wind. I’m not _sure_ , but I think so. I feel like I can. It doesn’t want me to change which way I’m going that much, which I guess is all right. So I just sort of shift around a little and head the way that the wind calls to me. 

I have no idea of how long it is before the snow starts to get thicker and the wind blows even harder and I’m not all that sure all of a sudden that this was the right idea. Going back isn’t an option. I can’t really turn around, not with how the wind howls and presses against me. 

Even when I try it, just to see, I stop very fast. No sooner do I get turned around than the wind picks up and howls and nearly knocks me off of my feet. Not a good idea. So I manage to get myself turned the way the wind wants me to go. 

I don’t want to die. I know that, even if I don’t know a whole lot else. 

I hope the wind knows it too. 

**To Be Continued**

**Notes:** This one is gonna get updated about every other day until I'm done.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Word Count:** 1,076|| **Story Word Count:** 2,129|| **Chapter Count:** 2/12

* * *

I wish the wind would tell me where it wants me to go, or at least … well… something. Anything. 

But I’m also not sure if I really understand it or if I’m just somehow making this all up. Why would I be able to talk to the wind and have it talk back? 

Or not talk but understand it, anyway? Have it push me the way that it wants me to go? 

I still don’t understand any of this and I want to so much. I want my memories back. I want to know who I am and why this is going on. 

The only real hope that I have is finding out where the wind wants me to go and I can’t even say for sure if that will help. It’s just the only thing that I can do right now. 

So I keep trudging into it, and the wind blows me along. It blows my hair in my face, which I don’t like all that much, but I almost think the wind is trying to tease me with it? Or maybe it can’t help it. 

Part of not having any memories means that I don’t know why things happen. I don’t know if I’d know why they happened if I _did_ have my memories, but at least I’d know something more than I do right now. 

I feel like I’m twisting my brain all in knots over nothing, but what else am I supposed to do? Lost in the cold and the snow and the wind, and the only thing that’s close to a friend is the wind itself. 

It pushes at me more, trying to steer me along. It takes me a few minutes to figure out where it wants me to go, but I take the time. Really, what else am I going to do? Stopping means I freeze. Not stopping means I don’t freeze and might get somewhere. 

I think I see something ahead of me now. It’s kind of amazing to see something that’s not the endless white on all sides. Something that’s not me, anyway. 

The names of things drift back, little by little, mostly of what I can see. I know snow. I can understand the wind, even if I can’t see it. 

I know my arms and legs. I know the brush of my hair and the fact that it’s gold. I don’t know much else about myself but I would like to. And all that I have is the wind pushing me onward and something that I can kind of see ahead, even if I can’t guess at what it is. 

Seeing it doesn’t mean I know it, even when I’m close enough to see it clearly. It’s just a thing. It’s about twice as tall as I am, slender and straight, coming to a point at the top and flat on all the sides around. 

Then a name slips into my head. This is an _obelisk_. 

I can’t help it, I’m proud to know the word. It feels like the blankness that is me isn’t so blank anymore. 

Maybe this is a good sign. Maybe if I keep going, I’ll find more of me, and then I won’t be blank anymore. I like the idea of not being blank. 

I know I was a person before this. Before whatever took my memories, and maybe even sent me here to … to do something. Fight to get them back? Die without them? That I don’t know. But I was a person before and I’m going to be a person again. 

If whoever did this wanted me to die, then I’m not going to let that happen. I don’t care who did it. If they wanted me to get them back, then I want to do that. 

I want to do that even if they don’t want me to. 

Maybe even especially if they don’t want me to. 

Though I’d like to know who it is. Because I want to know everything that I don’t know right now. 

That’s probably too much for one person to know. But I’m going to try it anyway. I want to at least know everything that I did before, even if it’s not _everything_ that I don’t know right now. 

I try to move on beyond the obelisk. But the wind won’t let me, howling and shrieking fit to deafen me if it doesn’t stop. 

All right. I get the message. I won’t go beyond here. Not until the wind says I can anyway. 

I rest a hand on one side of the obelisk. It’s cool to the touch. It’s about as wide as I am, I think. I don’t have anything else to measure it by. I keep a hand on it as I walk along, so the wind knows that I’m not trying to leave it behind. 

I walk all the way around it, moving my hand up and down, mostly so I can do something until the wind lets me know what else it wants me to do. Almost everywhere I touch is smooth. 

But on the other side, opposite to where I started, there’s a little switch. It’s almost flush against the side, not the sort of thing you’d notice at first sight. You’d almost have to touch it in order to know it’s there. 

The wind picks up the moment I realize what it is and I know the wind is _cheering me on_. 

I press the switch. That’s what happens with switches, isn’t it? You press them and they do things. 

I press it and there’s a rumble. It takes a moment for me to realize that it’s the obelisk itself, or the door that slowly appears that’s rumbling. I can’t remember hearing anything that isn’t the wind in so long. 

The wind itself pushes me toward the door, which is just a gaping sort of darkness. I can see the top of a set of stairs and nothing else. Whatever’s down there, I’m not going to see it unless I’m right on top of it. 

So I go downward. It feels nice for a few moments to not have the wind pressing against me, but in the next moment, I’m lonely, too. The wind is my friend. The wind has been trying to help me. I miss it. 

But the wind can’t go underground. And underground is where I have to go next. 

**To Be Continued**

**Notes:** I don't know what's going on any more than you do.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Word Count:** 1,076|| **Story Word Count:** 3,205|| **Chapter Count:** 3/12

* * *

Not feeling the wind is strange. On the very long list of things that I don’t remember, not knowing how it feels to have it whipping around me is… somewhere on the list. It’s such a long list that I can’t even be sure of how it’s sorted, mostly because I don’t even know what’s on the list. 

I don’t recommend not knowing things. It’s not just confusing, it’s infuriating. 

Knowing or not, I still keep going down the stairs, and something I guess is instinct keeps me from just running, even though I want to see what’s at the bottom. I just take careful steps, trying to stare down below. 

No matter how much I look, I can’t see more than a step or two ahead of me. It’s about like it was out of the obelisk, when I couldn’t see that far because the wind and snow kept up all around me. Only it’s a little warmer here. 

Not too much. I still wish I had something else to keep me warm. All I know that I have on me is just my hair and my clothes and they’re not very warm. Maybe I’m from somewhere where there isn’t cold. 

I wish I was back there now. That would be so much nicer than being here. Maybe I could think more about what I don’t know or don’t remember if I didn’t worry about how much I shiver in the cold. 

And I do shiver. What else am I going to do, except for fret and worry over the things I’ve forgotten and what might’ve made me forget? 

Without any sort of hint at all, the stairs come to an end. A stair there and then a floor spreads out in front of me. There isn’t much light around here but as I move forward, I can still see just a few steps ahead. It’ll do to guide me somewhere. Maybe that’s what the light is there for in the first place. 

The farther that I go, the more I can feel some sort of _weirdness_ creeping down my neck. It sort of feels as if someone is watching me, but I don’t know who it could be. 

“Is someone there?” I have to ask. I have to know. Just wandering into the dark without any kind of hint is not a pleasant way to spend the time. It might get me somewhere, but I don’t know where, and I’m pretty sure that I don’t like that. 

But there isn’t an answer, at least not in words. From somewhere the wind comes, and there is a laugh on the wind, a glittering, glowing sort of sound that tugs at me and lets me know where it wants me to go. 

I think the wind is glad that I spoke. Maybe it needed me to talk so it could find me and keep guiding me. 

If I’d known that, I would’ve tried it sooner. It’s here now, though, and it’s the only entity of any kind that seems to want to help me. The snow isn’t any sort of help and the obelisk is just kind of here and the wind tells me where I need to go. I just have to figure out what it is trying to say. 

So far what I’m guessing is that it wants me to turn left and keep walking. 

I turn left and keep walking. 

The light doesn’t change. Doesn’t get stronger or weaker. I can’t hear anything except my own footsteps. The air is dank and a little on the sour side except when the wind blows. Since it keeps on blowing, I can’t smell anything else, but before it started up again, that’s what it was like. 

I’m not close enough to the walls now to see what they’re like. The wind just calls me along, blowing from one side or the other when I drift off course, which I only do once or twice. I think I’m learning. I hope I’m getting somewhere. 

Then there are more steps looming up in front of me. The light isn’t enough to show where they lead, but I head up. 

“This is not fun,” I mutter, because it really isn’t. It’s just an endless trek and without knowing where I’m going or why I’m going there, I don’t like any of this. 

The wind tugs a little more and it sort of feels like it’s trying to comfort me. That’s nice of it. I wish it could talk in words that would be able to tell me things. 

Though even if it could, I don’t know what the wind knows. Would it be able to tell me what I need to know? 

The more that I think about it – and I don’t have much else to think about – the more I think that it could tell me something that would be useful. Even if all it tells me is my name. 

_Izumi..._

I stop where I am. I heard that. I know I heard it. 

“Who said that?” 

It couldn’t be the wind, could it? I’ve known that it’s special, that I can hear it – or does that make me special? Getting off-track… 

But can the wind actually tell me things now? Is it because of where we are? 

The wind – or whatever – doesn’t answer. I stay where I am until the wind tugs at me again, urging me to keep going up the stairs. 

Someone said a name. Someone said a name that makes me want to hear it again, and I whisper it under my breath. 

I like how it sounds. How it feels. 

It’s a name. I think… 

I’m not sure… but I think… I think it’s my name. 

I say it again, out loud. 

“Izumi.” 

Yes, I like how it sounds. It feels like me. It also feels sort of… wet, if that’s the right word for it. I am not at all the person to ask about that. 

But wet or not, it feels like me. I know it must be me. 

I am Izumi. Izumi is _me_. 

It’s the first thing that I know about myself that I didn’t find out just by looking at myself. I’m Izumi. Izumi has blonde hair and wears purple clothes and keeps on walking where the wind calls her. 

Going on up the stairs, and there’s a change I can’t possibly expect. 

Suddenly, there is light. 

**To Be Continued**

**Notes:** And Izumi knows her name now. What else can happen next?


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Word Count:** 1,070|| **Story Word Count:** 4,275|| **Chapter Count:** 4/12

* * *

The light is all that I can see at first. With the nudging of the wind I keep going. I try to take my time, because I don’t want to end up falling and hurting myself. The farther along that I go, the more certain I am that won’t happen. 

That doesn’t mean I start running, though. The farther forward I go, the more I can see that isn’t light, and that helps me get adjusted more. 

I don’t know how far I’ve gone before I hear a voice that sounds so much like the one that spoke my name. 

“Welcome, Izumi.” 

It sounds like a woman’s voice. Not that I am certain of the differences, but that’s what it sounds like to me. 

“Who are you? Where are you?” I look around; this person has to be somewhere, don’t they? 

I can feel them looking at me. But I still can’t see them and I don’t know if it’s because of all the light or they’re just hiding from me. 

I hope it’s the light. I don’t like the idea of being talked to by someone that I can’t see, who thinks it’s fun to hide when I already can’t see much. 

“Look up.” 

I do. I can’t see very well; there’s still too much light. But the harder that I look, the more I can see a sort of a shape. It isn’t one that I remember – of course it isn’t – but I can figure out that it looks kind of like a human in armor. I can’t see much more than that. 

But I can tell this is who is talking to me. When they speak again, the voice just kind of seems to come from up there. It’s probably in the top five list of weird things that have happened to me. 

That I can remember. 

“Who _are_ you?” Now that I can see them, I want a name. I want to know who they are and what they want from me. Because they have to want something, why else would I be called here? “Did you send the wind for me?” Then I stop. Something else occurs to me. “Did you take my memories?” 

“I am Ophanimon. I did send the wind for you, but I did not take your memories. That is a side effect I could not control. Anyone who enters this land loses their memories until they can win them back.” 

Oh. I can’t say why I believe Ophanimon, but I do. It doesn’t make me any happier to know any of this. 

“How do I win them back?” Because I want to so much. I have to know who I am and what is going on. I won’t be me without that, and I want to be me. 

“Each method is different for everyone. All that I can tell you is that the wind is your friend and ally, the only one that you can truly count on here. You may meet others who will help or hinder, but you can always trust the wind.” 

Which still doesn’t tell me everything I want to know, but it’s a beginning. 

“What do I have to do?” I have a feeling I will involve breaking that crystal and releasing Ophanimon from it. I can’t imagine anyone would want to stay in a place like that. And I don’t object to doing it. 

“I must be released from this prison. The only tool that can do that can be found far from here. The wind will guide you to it. Only someone like you can bring it back here and free me. Will you help me?” 

I wish that I knew what to say that wasn’t just ‘yes’. Because of being called here, my memories are gone. The only way to get them back is to do what Ophanimon wants me to do. For someone that I don’t know. 

For all I know, Ophanimon could be some sort of demon that was locked up in here on purpose to protect the world. 

And I can’t turn down this order. 

If I destroy the world, I’m not taking the blame for it. 

“I will.” What else can I possibly say? I’m tired from all the walking. I’m still cold from the snow. The little time I’ve spent inside hasn’t done much to warm me up. 

Also, my shoulders feel strange. More so than any other part of me. I just really started to notice. They kind of feel like something is hanging on them, and it just is _strange_. 

“Thank you, Izumi. Above and beyond the restoration of your memory, I will reward you when you return and free me.” 

The wind tugs on me again and I guess the interview – if that’s what you’d call it – is over. I follow the wind until I’m somewhere else and it takes me a few moments to recognize what I’m seeing. 

It’s a bedroom. I guess that means I don’t have to jump out and start on this quest right away. I’m good with that. The bed looks soft and welcoming, and I can smell food coming from somewhere. There’s another door across from where I came in, and when I peek that way, there’s a bathroom. 

I hurry right over there. I want to eat and sleep but the moment it dawns on me what a bathroom has in it, there’s something I want even more. 

The strange feeling on my shoulders doesn’t stop as I start to get ready for the hot bath that’s waiting in the bathroom. In fact, it kind of gets stranger as I wriggle out of my clothes. 

My fingers brush against skin, nothing out of the ordinary about that. But then they touch on something else, and I stop where I am. 

Bathrooms have something else, don’t they? Well, they don’t have to. But I think I remember seeing one in most bathrooms. 

The mirror spreads across one wall, as flawless as if it were made out of silver or diamonds. I can see myself for the first time. I was right about being blond – which doesn’t surprise me, I can see my own hair – but now I see I have purple eyes, which match some of my clothes. 

But rising up behind me are two things that I missed entirely, until their weight made themselves known. 

“I have _wings_...” 

**To Be Continued**

**Notes:** I said it was an AU. That hasn’t changed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Word Count:** 1,027|| **Story Word Count:** 5,302|| **Chapter Count:** 5/12

* * *

First one, then the other moves, just as I want them to. I spread them out wide; I can fly! I don’t take off but I know this is something that I can do. 

How did I miss them before? That, I don’t know. But they’re here now and they’re so warm and beautiful. The feathers are the same color as my hair, and they’re so big! 

Yes, I can definitely fly, and I want to do that as soon as I can. Maybe once I leave here. 

But did they just show up once Ophanimon and I talked? Did I really just not know they were there all this time? 

I don’t know. I can’t know. But I need to bathe and I need to eat and sleep and then start on my way again, so I can get my memories back and help Ophanimon. 

Not necessarily in that order, of course, but one will bring the other, at least as far as what Ophanimon told me. I kind of have to trust I’ve been told the truth. 

I’ve done nothing else since I realized I was walking in the snow and the cold anyway. Doing it one more time won’t hurt anything. Kind of hope not, anyway. 

If I can fly, then maybe I can finish this even faster. I’d like that. I really, really would. 

Getting into the bathtub with my wings is a little difficult. All right, it’s a lot difficult. I don’t think it’s a good idea to get wings wet. I don’t think that’s a memory. It’s more of a feeling. 

I don’t know if I know the difference anymore between what I know, what I remember, and what I just think or feel. It all kinds of blends together and if – when – I get my memories back I don’t think that I’ll be the _me_ that I’m learning to be now. 

And I have no idea if that will be a good thing or not. Because I don’t know who I was and I’m just piecing together who I am. 

I know I can fly. I know I must’ve flown before. I know that I was called to do something and because of that I lost everything about myself. 

What if I don’t like the person I used to be? That can be a thing, can’t it? What if I wasn’t a good person before? 

I think I’m a good person now. I want to be one. But when you don’t know who you are or what you were, how can you be anything else? I haven’t had anything that I could do so I could be something else. 

When you don’t have choices, how can you choose what’s right? 

The wind rattles all around me, tossing up little waves in the bathwater. I feel like it’s telling me that I’m being silly, that I should just work on getting my mission accomplished and my memories back, then I can worry about whether or not I’m a good person. 

Even if it’s not telling me that, it makes sense for me to do that. So I kind of do it. I finish up my bath. I’m certain I must’ve had hot baths before, but this one feels fantastic. If I had to pick between soaking in hot water and being slammed by cold snow and rain, I’m pretty sure I would pick the hot water. 

There are fresh clothes waiting for me. They don’t look like what I came in with, but I put them on anyway. They feel strange, almost like they’re woven of metal, but they don’t _look_ like armor. 

At least not what I think armor would look like. 

I really want my memories back. 

Anyway, I put it all on. It’s in the same shades of violet that I wore before, so I guess that’s my favorite color. Someone thinks it is, and it’s a nice color, so I won’t argue about it. Long pants and boots, a shirt that goes down past my waist but isn’t too big for me, so I guess it’s supposed to be long. The sleeves come down to my wrists and there are openings for my wings. 

It’s like this outfit was made with me in mind. Me, and the trip I’m going to make. These clothes are warm. I’ll probably still be kind of chilly out there, but I won’t be in any danger of freezing to death. 

There’s even a helmet or a hat or something to go on my head. I don’t put that on just yet. I don’t need armor to eat dinner and take a nap. It feels like I could sleep in this and I’m probably going to, but I still don’t put it on. I do carry it with me when I leave the bathroom, though. 

No sooner do I step outside than I see a table with a steaming hot tray on it. Ophanimon’s place is just full of the best things: including warmth. Hot water, hot food, probably a warm bed later. I could stay here for the warmth alone. 

Doing that means no memories, though, and I’m not going to give that up. 

So I settle down and start eating. Couldn’t name a single thing on the plate, but it’s all delicious, and I enjoy hearing the wind rattle around as I eat. I still can’t _hear_ it, not like I heard Ophanimon, but I feel what it wants to say, and it’s eager to get started on the mission. 

But I need to sleep and the wind is just going to have to deal with that. 

I hope that this kind of thing is what I was used to before. It would be so strange to remember, and then to know that not everyone can talk to the wind, or that I shouldn’t be able to. The wind is my friend now. 

I put out a hand and I can feel it wrap around me, comforting me, telling me that everything will be all right, that I will succeed. 

I want to believe that it’s telling me the truth. 

**To Be Continued**

**Notes:** Poor confused Izumi. But the truth will come in the end.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Word Count:** 1,041||Story Word Count: 6,343|| **Chapter Count:** 6/12

* * *

As much as I want to, I can’t take off into the skies when I leave Ophanimon’s hidden prison. The wind won’t let me. It won’t tell me why. But I step outside and I spread my wings and the wind blows harder, hard to the point that I know I can’t take off. 

The snow hasn’t stopped. That probably is some part of why. I don’t think it’s a good idea to fly in the snow. 

So now I just have to trudge on land, and use my wings to get over large piles of snow or whatever’s underneath the snow. 

Ophanimon couldn’t tell me much. The wind is the only guide I have and it tugs me along. A gust here, a swirl there, playing with my wings and my hair. 

I don’t know if Ophanimon didn’t tell me things because I didn’t ask or because there wasn’t anything to tell me in the first place that I didn’t already know. The prison has to be broken. The tool to do so is far away and the wind will guide me. 

If that’s all Ophanimon knew, then that’s all I know. 

And doing so will get me my memories back. That, I want more than anything. 

I think I’ve made that clear. 

I have no idea of how far I’ve gone when I can feel someone watching me. It doesn’t feel like Ophanimon. It doesn’t feel _right_ at all. 

And then I hear laughing. High-pitched laughing, just as I stumble around a rock and find a large, clear lake in front of me. There’s not a hint of snow here, but it’s not warm, either. Just a lake, clear as the sky, and standing in the center of it is … someone. 

Their armor isn’t like mine. It kind of reminds me of water and waves, and they have one hand set on their hip, looking at me as if they think I’m some kind of a bug. 

Oh, no. I already don’t like whoever this is. 

“So you’re the one Ophanimon sent,” the other woman says. There’s a definite hint of being looked up and down and I don’t like it. “You’re not that great. I bet I can take you.” 

I hold my own head up as high as I can. “Who the heck are you?” 

There’s another laugh. This time I’m absolutely certain that whoever this is, is the one laughing. 

“I’m Ranamon!” Ranamon raises one hand and a torrent of water blasts toward me. “See if those wings can help you when you’re drowning!” 

I have just enough time to realize that Ranamon uses water attacks and that we’re standing right near a very deep and very broad lake, which means I’m in a lot of trouble. 

Then the water smashes into me and I slam back hard, finding a snow-covered rock with my back. 

Which means with my wings and that _hurts_. I scream. I don’t want to but I do anyway. 

Ranamon keeps on laughing and I can’t wait to end that. I spring back up on my feet, keeping my wings spread wide. Maybe I can’t fly to travel but I can fly to fight, and the wind calls, telling me this is so. 

Like everything else, I’ve forgotten if I know how to fight, but right now, I no longer care. Ranamon’s not only in between me and wherever I’m going and whatever I’m looking for, but I was attacked first, and I’m not going to let that slide. 

So I strike, and the wind strikes with me, and Ranamon is so busy laughing at me that on my first attempt to hit, I end up throwing this little slip of a water nymph – that’s all I can think Ranamon might be – halfway across the lake. 

It might not be the best idea, but I know darned well that it feels _good_ to connect like that. 

“How dare you! You _bruised_ me!” Ranamon flails and shrieks, pointing to a tiny mark on the skin above where the armor ends. 

“If you didn’t want to fight, then you shouldn’t have hit me,” I point out. The wind blows harder, whipping the waves of the lake and my hair and wings all at the same time. “Are you going to get out of my way or do I have to do this again?” 

I can feel an awareness, something stronger and deeper inside of me, rising with every moment of aggression against Ranamon. I don’t know if I should welcome it or not. 

If Ranamon said anything, I didn’t quite hear it. But from the sky there come fresh clouds, and these are full of water, not snow, and that water, black and thick and foul beyond belief, pours all over me. 

“How dare you! How dare you!” Ranamon’s shrieks keep coming and I can’t find the wind, not with this disgusting garbage all over me. “I’m not letting you by here! I’m not letting you go at all!” 

I wonder if Ranamon might know more than I do about what’s going on. Maybe I could’ve asked, if the nymph didn’t seem so intent on killing me. 

Hard to say if anything I’d been told would’ve been the truth, though. 

Doesn’t matter. I don’t know what this rain attack is called or what it’s supposed to do other than choke the life out of me, which it’s doing a fair job of. But water can get rid of water, can’t it? And if Ranamon throws it around like this, then maybe it won’t cause any damage. 

I don’t know why I care about the one attacking me being hurt, but I do anyway, and I struggle to make my way to the lake. 

“Nope!” Ranamon drops down in front of me, tiny little toes hovering over the lake. I don’t think a water spirit can fly, but maybe the rules are different near water. “Not for you!” 

And then there’s another strike of that thick, horrid water, and it tightens all around me, one coil wrapping around my throat and another one around my wings and then my legs and arms, and I can’t move, I can’t see, I can’t think… 

I can’t...anything… 

**To Be Continued**

**Notes:** Are we having fun yet? Ranamon is!


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Word Count:** 1,077|| **Story Word Count:** 7,420|| **Chapter Count:** 7/12

* * *

“-finished!” 

It’s the first thing that I hear when I start to become aware again. It’s Ranamon’s voice, which doesn’t surprise me. I’m almost more surprised that I remember what it sounds like, or that I remember anything at all. 

I still remember everything from the moment I found myself walking in the snow. Ophanimon’s request. That I have wings and can fly. That Ranamon beat the daylights out of me with evil water. 

I kind of wish I could forget that part. But I hurt too much to forget it. 

I try to open my eyes. I either can’t open them or I can’t see anything if they are open. I just don’t see anything at all. 

I shift around a little, wanting to get up. I can’t do that, either. Something’s holding me, and I think it’s that disgusting water thing that Ranamon threw at me. It feels like slick ropes, holding me tight enough that it’s hard to breathe. 

Then a finger pokes at me. 

“Still alive.” It’s Ranamon, again. “Well, the boss won’t mind getting rid of you but I’m going to take care of you myself.” 

I don’t feel _any_ bit relieved at that. I’d much rather not be taken care of, especially not by Ranamon. 

“I bet you don’t even know what’s going on.” 

I can’t argue the point on that. I stay limp, mostly because there’s not much I can do in the first place. Let Ranamon brag on. I want to figure a way out of here and if babbling means I can do that without being found out, then babble away. 

I think Ranamon’s saying something about having a boss of some kind but that’s about all I hear before I start trying to touch the wind again. 

The wind’s helped me all this time. It has to help me now. I _hope_ it can help me now. 

It gusts around me. It’s worried about me. It touches me and it stirs the waves a little; I can hear them slapping on the lake shore. If Ranamon notices, there’s no sign of it. That’s good. It has to be good. 

I would probably get more done if it was quieter around here, but Ranamon hasn’t learned what it is to be quiet yet. 

After having the wind blow around me almost forever, silence is scary and welcome at the same time. But Ranamon just won’t shut up and the more I hear the babbling, the less that I want to hear it. 

It doesn’t help at all that the chatter’s gone from having a boss to being the most perfect and beautiful being that ever existed. At least having a boss was sort of interesting, and could be useful once I’m out of here. But hearing Ranamon go on about how everyone in the entire universe belongs to some kind of ‘fan club’? 

_Boring_. 

All right. Back to business. The wind keeps blowing and I have to struggle to pay attention to it – Ranamon, _not helping_ \- and I think I manage to understand a little of it. 

I need stronger winds. I need something on the scale of a tornado, something that can overcome Ranamon’s water. 

All right, I get that. I mean, I understand what the wind is telling me. 

But I don’t understand now I’m going to get it or where this kind of power could come from. 

_From you._

The wind-words call to me, shaping into a way I understand. I can feel this isn’t a usual thing. But it happens. 

Even if I don’t understand it, and I don’t. 

I relax. I try to look as if I’m either asleep or somehow enraptured by all of Ranamon’s posturing. I’m not either one. 

I want to be the wind. I want to be a little breeze and a huge tornado, a hurricane born of water and wind both, but meant to help, not stop whatever it is that Ranamon wants to stop. 

Ranamon is a water nymph, born from the waves. 

I don’t know why that’s important, but it is. If Ranamon is of the water and it gives those born of itself power over water, then… 

I don’t have power over the wind. The wind helps me. The wind is my friend, my ally, my guide, my teacher. 

I may have been born of the wind. 

I _was_ born of the wind. 

I remember. 

Not everything. But a moment so far in the past that even before I lost them all I seldom thought of it. 

But there was a moment, a time, before I was born, when the wind danced and sang with itself and then I _was_ born, a daughter of the skies, child of the zephyr, fairy kin. 

Hot desert winds. 

Cold arctic breezes. 

Winds touched by shadow and by light. 

Winds that blew through the trees and over the earth, aware of all of it. 

All of the winds were me and are me and are my kin and were my kin. 

Why I live in the shape I do, I still do not know. I cannot remember if I knew before, but I know now, and something opens up within me. 

My wings remain, broad and strong and snapping out of the bonds, laced with metal, feathers sharp-edged and slicing. 

I can hear Ranamon protesting, and I tear off the blindfold as the winds whip around me. 

“You can’t do that!” Ranamon stands in front of me, staring, head shaking so much I almost worry it might fall off. “No one can break my water chains!” 

“I’d say call me no one, but my name is Izumi.” 

Perhaps it is. Perhaps it isn’t. There’s another name, _three_ other names, that float in the shadows behind my lips. I couldn’t say them all. Or maybe I won’t say them all. 

There is power in a name. A name is knowledge, awareness. That’s power I won’t let Ranamon take from me, nor will I give it away. 

But there are other powers that I can and will use now, because Ophanimon must be freed. Whatever else I’ve unlocked, I know that as much as I know the kiss of the wind. 

I know it as much as I let Ranamon feel the wind’s wrath as well. Water and wind fight well together, and the hurricane is mine to command. 

This is not going to be a good day for Ranamon. 

**To Be Continued**

**Notes:** I think the shape of the world is coming along. I can’t reveal it all in one story – I have limits – but I like how it’s looking.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Word Count:** 1,037|| **Story Word Count:** 8,457|| **Chapter Count:** 8/12

* * *

I think when you unleash an attack on your enemy, you’re supposed to shout something to focus it. Or just shout something in general. Ranamon didn’t when we fought the first time. Neither did I. 

And I don’t do it this time, either, but that’s because I don’t want Ranamon to realize that the attack is coming. It’s possible that I would’ve succeeded in attacking even if I’d yelled the attack name – if it has one and if I knew what it was – at the top of my lungs. Ranamon is too busy being furious that I’m not laying down quietly all tied up. 

“Do you know what could happen if you’re not -” And then the wind strike slams right where I aim it, and Ranamon goes flying back. 

I’m nice enough to make sure there aren’t any rocks in the way when I do it, too. Which is more than I can say for what Ranamon did to me earlier. My wings still hurt from that. 

But now I rise up; it’s allowed for me to fly now. Why I had to walk instead of fly before is still something I don’t understand, but the air is mine in all ways, and I’m certainly not going to turn that down now. 

Besides, my wings are different. They’re not fluffy little feathers anymore. They’re coated in metal, sharp-edged as the wind itself, and I throw them forward, letting them slam against Ranamon. 

It’s not exactly easy to win the fight. Ranamon doesn’t stay down for more than a few seconds. If my attacks connect, then I draw blood and Ranamon screams. But if Ranamon can dart out of the way – and water nymphs are surprisingly agile in the air and in the water – then I have to watch my back. 

Ranamon rolls out of the way of one blast of wind and feathers and dives under the water. 

This isn’t good. I have to watch in all directions. The slightest ripple could mean I’m about to be attacked. 

The hurricanes and winds are mine, but the water is Ranamon’s, and there’s a tidal wave that shouldn’t be there practically under my feet. 

I want to ask Ranamon what the whole deal is. It would be a question better asked if we weren’t fighting but that’s not going to happen. 

I throw myself forward, hearing my wings clatter against one another, and look for Ranamon even as I hunt for safety. 

“You won’t get away with this! There’s no way you can find it!” 

All right, maybe I _can_ find out something from Ranamon, even if we’re in the middle of a fight. But I have to be smart about it. 

“What makes you think I haven’t found it already?” I try to sound confident. I try to sound like I know what I’m talking about. 

All of Ranamon’s chatter comes in handy right now. Every bit of it involved beauty and having fans of every kind. 

Ranamon likes to brag. There’s got to be a way I can use that and I think this is it. 

“You can’t have!” Ranamon glares at me from the shore of the lake, standing over the water, fists on hips, and with a look that says I’m a lying liar who lies. 

Well, I kind of am lying. If a question counts as a lie. But I don’t exactly want to point that out right now. 

Instead I just flit away when Ranamon sends another wave at me, this time of that horrid kind of water that took me down before. I don’t want to get hit by _that_ again. 

“Why can’t I? Really, tell me these things. Why can’t I have done exactly what I came out here to do.” 

I don’t want Ranamon to think about anything at all except the things that I want to know. Tossing another blast of wind that way helps. Ranamon’s going to think about getting out of the way and yelling back at me instead of anything else. 

“Because if you had it, you wouldn’t have come from there!” One armored finger points the way that I came. “You would’ve come from that way!” 

And now the finger swerves, pointing to the left of where I came. “And everyone would know!” 

“Why would they?” 

This is dangerous. If Ranamon figures out what I’m doing, then… well, I won’t get any more information, not here, anyway. 

But it looks as if that won’t be a problem. 

“Because when one of the Legendary Warriors touches that crystal, the whole _world_ shakes!” 

Well. Now I know what I’m looking for. And I know a little more about what I am. Or what Ranamon thinks I am. I’m not willing to believe everything that I’m told. It’s just more than I knew before. 

“And if you’d been there, you’d know that alre -” 

Ranamon stops. Stares at me. I may or may not have seen someone this angry before, but the look I’m seeing now is the absolute peak of rage. 

“Bye now!” I wave and dart off the way that I hope is the right one, the one Ranamon pointed out. I can hear the shouting and cursing for what feels like ages, but sooner or later, it fades away. 

I probably could’ve avoided that whole battle if I’d just left to start with, but I wasn’t even sure then of where to go or how I’d even find what I was looking for. Not even much about _what_ I was looking for. And I learned more about myself, with this new...change. 

So I guess it wasn’t that bad of a stop, even if it hurt. Even if it means that whoever Ranamon works for will know that I’m looking for the crystal. Whatever that is. 

Whoever decided I wasn’t going to get my memories back until this quest is over needs to spend a few weeks without _their_ memories. I don’t think they’d find it all that funny then. I know that I don’t. 

But I have a long way to go still and I hope that I find where the crystal is. 

And that there aren’t any stronger people than Ranamon guarding it. 

**To Be Continued**

**Notes:** This is sneaking closer to being finished.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Word Count:** 1,047|| **Story Word Count:** 9,504|| **Chapter Count:** 9/12

* * *

Day. Night. Day again. Edging into another night, and I have no idea of how close I am to my goal or even if I really am going in the right direction. I took a chance following Ranamon’s ego, and all I’ve got to show for it is that the wind hasn’t told me that I’m wrong. 

Which doesn’t mean I’m right, either, but what else can I do? It’s either I turn back and try again or I keep going, and I’d rather not go over the same territory I’ve been through. And I’d rather not run into Ranamon again, either. I’m pretty sure that I can win another fight if I have to, but that’s not the point. 

Ranamon needs some actual friends and I can’t do it right now. Not when I don’t know who I am. 

Not having my memories makes me do things I think I’d rather not do if I did have them. Or not do things I wish I could. 

So I want them back and this is how I have to do it. 

**Is it now.**

That isn’t the wind. That isn’t Ophanimon. 

I don’t know who it is. I can’t tell if it’s male or female or something else. It sort of leans toward ‘something else’, really. 

But the depth of it shakes me down to my bones. 

I spin around, trying to find out where it’s coming from, and no matter where I look, I see nothing but blue skies overhead and white, snow-covered ground all around me. There’s not been a hint of a treeline since shortly after I left Ranamon’s lake. 

“Who’s there?” 

**You think that completing this quest will bring back your memories when you don’t even know how you lost them?**

Whoever’s talking, I don’t like what they’re saying, and not just because I can’t see them. 

“Ophanimon told me that it was because of being called here!” Even as I say it, I can feel something is off in it and that disturbs me as much as anything else about this trip has. 

Maybe more so. 

**Of course.** So condescending. I hate whoever this is already. **Think, wind-born. What did Ophanimon tell you? And what did Ophanimon _not_ tell you.**

My mouth is open but before I say anything, I start to think. And what I come up with, I don’t like. 

Ophanimon never told me how I could get my memories back. All Ophanimon said was that anyone who came there lost theirs and there were different ways to get them back. Then I was asked to find the crystal to break through those bindings. 

My mouth closes. I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. I didn’t like it then and now when it’s brought back, I like it even less. 

I don’t think Ophanimon lied about any of it. But not telling me things is almost as bad. Though Ophanimon might not have even known to tell me… 

**No. Ophanimon didn’t and doesn't know how to restore your memories. But I tell you this: so long as you remain within Ophanimon’s lands, you will gain only the slimmest pieces of your past. You have won back your name. You have begun to find your power once again. But you will never, ever gain it all back while you are in this land.**

I want to say something else but this voice keeps going without letting me. **And should you surrender this quest and leave, you will forget all that has happened to you in here. You will not remember Ophanimon or anyone else you’ve encountered. You will win back your memories but at the cost of those you forged here.**

I start to shake my head, though I can’t honestly say what it is that I’m saying no to. Maybe it’s to all of it. Why is all of this happening? 

I want to help Ophanimon. I want my memories back. I want to be able to do both. 

“Just because you're saying all of this doesn’t make it true! It doesn't mean I should listen to you!” 

**No, it doesn’t. But will you get what you want if you don’t listen to me?**

It’s hard to think. It’s hard to breathe and I don’t know why. Only a few thoughts really stand out. 

I lost my memories because Ophanimon called me here and doesn’t know how I can get them back. 

Ophanimon must be freed and that’s the quest I chose to take. I don’t know how to succeed at it. I only know there’s something about a crystal and I can’t be sure of it. 

I need the wind, and like almost always, the wind answers, curling around me, tugging at my hair, rustling through my feathers, whispering encouragement in a way that doesn’t involve words. 

**Can you even guess what you are? Something beyond your name, wind-born?**

“Why are you calling me that?” I know it’s not an answer but I do want to know. I’ll take anything I can get, wherever I can get it from. 

**If you knew who and what you are, then you’d know why I call you that. You must decide. Will you continue on Ophanimon's quest or will you seek another way to get back what you’ve lost?**

Neither one is a guarantee. Neither one will absolutely give me what I want. 

But when I hear it put like that then something squeezes deep inside of me, that I can only think of as _wrong_ , and I’m not at all sure of what it is that I’m thinking about. 

The wind is there. The wind is my friend. I know this not because of what Ophanimon said, but because from the moment I became aware of it until now, the wind alone has truly stood by me. 

I think I might have other friends out there, but they're not here, and the wind is. That’s what I know. 

And the wind brought me to Ophanimon. 

“I’ll finish what I started! I’ll save Ophanimon! I can leave this place after I do that, and it won’t matter if I remember here or not because I will have done what I said I would!” 

And the world shatters around me. 

**To Be Continued**

**Notes:** It’s interesting not knowing much about this story as it unfolds, even from my end.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Word Count:** 1,024|| **Story Word Count:** 10,528|| **Chapter Count:** 10/12

* * *

I’m not where I was when I open my eyes again. I _was_ in the middle of an expanse of snow-covered plains. Where the snow came from when the skies were blue, I didn’t know. It was just there. At least I didn’t have to put up with it falling, though, and my clothes keep me warmer than I think they probably should have. My wings help, too. 

But now I am in front of something that can only be a castle. I can’t recognize the material, but it looks a lot like crystal. It should be clear, but I can’t see through it. 

Standing outside of the castle’s front door are two flower-y sort of creatures. The moment they see me looking at them, they stand up even straighter than they were. 

“Hi there!” One of them waves a vine-like arm at me. “Welcome! We’ve been waiting for you!” 

“Hello?” I start to get up, brushing myself off, twitching my wings so they don’t look as bad. If this is where I’m supposed to be, then I kind of want to give a decent first impression. “Uh, who are you?” 

“I’m Floramon,” the one who talked first says, then waves an arm toward the other one. “This is Floramon.” 

All right, this is getting a bit strange. 

No, it was strange a long time ago. I’ll figure out another name for it later. I nod at them both, though. 

“Where is this place?” Did I just fall out of the sky and land here? Did they see me fall? Does that happen enough that they’re completely all right with it? 

I don’t ask any of those, but I really, really want to. The only reason I don’t ask is because there are so many other questions I want answers to. 

Floramon the First looks up at the castle, then back to me. “This is our home. We stay here to guard the Great Crystal until someone comes to claim it.” 

That sounds like the place that I’m supposed to go to. Which makes me wonder just who it was that was talking to me before … whatever it was happened. I remember I made up my mind to help Ophanimon no matter what, so I thought at first I was being punished or taken prisoner or something. 

Only here I am, just where I am meant to go. 

Floramon the Second takes a close, peering look at me. “Are you the one who came here to claim the Great Crystal?” 

“I think I might be,” I say, because I’d really rather they didn’t turn on me. I think I could win in a fight, but they’re so… so small and so _innocent_ , just like little flowers that started to talk. 

I don’t think I could fight them if I had to. It would be wrong. 

The two Floramon look at each other, then back to me. 

“If you’re not the right one, then you won’t come back out of here,” Floramon the First says. “The Crystal will turn you to stone.” 

Well. I wasn’t expecting that. 

“How do I get in?” Expecting it or not, if this is where I’m supposed to go and if I’m supposed to get this to free Ophanimon, then that’s exactly what I’m going to do. 

The Floramon do that thing where they look at me and then look at each other, and then back to me. Floramon the Second is the one who says it. 

“All you have to do is ask.” 

I start forward, then stop at once. The wind tugs at my hair, urging me onward, but I think I see a little trap in here. I look at them again, then at the door. 

“May I enter? I want to find the crystal so I can free Ophanimon.” I don’t know if that last part is really necessary but I say it anyway. 

Without either Floramon moving, the door opens, revealing a long corridor beyond it. What I can see is just more crystal that should be transparent and isn’t. 

“You’re welcome here,” speaks a voice that sends shivers all through me and not in the good way. “Enter, wind-born.” 

Seriously, I want to know why they all call me that. Maybe once this is over. 

I tell the Floramon good-bye and head on inside, taking every step as if it could be my last. The wind still whistles all around me, playing with my hair and my feathers. 

I trust the wind not because Ophanimon said so, but because all along, it’s been with me. If I’m the wind-born, if I _am_ wind-born, then the wind is my parent. Or something like that. 

So I keep on going down the corridor, and as soon as I’ve passed the door, it slams shut. 

And I can’t feel the wind anymore. 

“Welcome to my home.” It’s that voice again. The one from just now. Definitely female and definitely dangerous. “Come, come, wind-born. I’ve been waiting for you for some time.” 

Nothing of that makes me feel any better. I try to spread my wings but even though I can, I know I won’t be able to fly. I can’t take off without the wind, and this place is too narrow to do any flying in any way. 

“There’s no need for that.” She sounds scolding. “Follow the corridor to find what you seek.” 

As much as I don’t like it – and that’s a lot – I head farther down. Without the wind, everything is just so quiet. The floor’s covered in a thick rug that muffles every footstep. Once I’m out of sight of the door, there are now tapestries covering the walls, mostly of designs and scenery. None of them really tick anything in my mostly blank memories. Or in the ones that I do have. 

I think that scares me more than almost anything else. 

“Who are you?” I ask mainly to hear something. 

A laugh comes back to me for that. “You’ll see when you meet me. And you will meet me.” 

As if I needed something to make me even more nervous. 

**To Be Continued**

**Notes:** I do know who is waiting for Izumi.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Word Count:** 1,078|| **Story Word Count:** 11,606|| **Chapter Count:** 11/12

* * *

Corridors. Stairways going up. Stairways going down. I don’t know how long it takes me to finally reach the end of it all, but one thing I do know: this isn’t a place where anyone could _live_. There aren’t any rooms here, unless their doors are hidden somehow. But from what I see, it’s nothing but passageways that lead into passageways. 

None of it makes sense. None of it I like. 

But then the corridor I walk in opens up into a single room and in that room I can see a single sharp-edged crystal dagger, floating above an altar. The altar is pure white marble, surrounded by a gentle glow, matched by one around the dagger itself. 

The wind tugs me closer. This is where I’m going. 

“So good to see you at long last,” speaks that voice once more, and in between me and the dagger there stands a woman. At least I feel certain this is a woman, though not like any I’ve seen. 

What is mostly different about this woman is that instead of a head, there is a rose up there. At least part of one, because I can see a nose and a mouth, which is bent into a smile. In one hand there is a sword like a thorn, sharp enough to cut me without a doubt, and in the other is a whip, edged with thorns as well. 

Just one look terrifies me far more than anything I’ve encountered so far. This is wrong. This is not where I am meant to be and I should not be facing this person. 

And yet I cannot leave and forget Ophanimon and all that I’ve done so far. 

The petals on top are as red as blood. That strikes me as wrong, though I don’t know why. 

“I am Rosemon,” the woman-flower tells me. “I protect this dagger, the only item that can release Ophanimon from imprisonment.” 

“Then I need it.” And yet now that I see what it is, I don’t want it. The closer I look, the worse I can see it. Not seeing it _better_ , but I can see that it’s horrible. In looks it’s just an ordinary dagger. A sharp edge, a handle, nothing more. 

But that thing has tasted blood and it wants _my_ blood and I won’t let it have it. 

Rosemon smiles. “Of course you do. But only the right person can take the dagger.” 

The wind isn’t blowing anymore. All I can hear are Rosemon’s words. The rest of the castle fades away around me, as if it wasn’t ever there. I don’t know if that’s really happening or if it’s just my imagination. 

“How do I prove I’m the right person?” Ophanimon needs my help. I can’t step aside and not follow this through to the end. 

“Step up to the dagger. Let it taste you. The dagger knows the right one for it.” 

I move forward. I don’t want this dagger to taste anything about me, but I don’t know what else I can do. Everything feels jangly and wrong, like I’ve gone off course somewhere. 

Without the wind, I’m going to have to make up my mind on my own. Not that I wouldn’t have, but the wind at least would let me know if I’d made the right choice. Now all I have is myself. 

I reach out for the dagger. I know it wants to drink my blood. It’s what something like that was made for, right? Things with edges that sharp were made to cut. It shouldn’t feel so wrong. 

“Yes, wind-born,” I can hear Rosemon murmuring behind me. I don’t think I’m supposed to, but I do anyway. “Let it drink of you.” 

It feels wrong. It is wrong. This isn’t what I’m meant to do. This isn’t what will help me. 

I pull my hand back. “I’m not going to do it.” 

I can hear Rosemon’s hiss of breath and feel rising rage, but when I turn, all that I see is a sweet, confused smile. 

“Do you think you’re not the one meant to free Ophanimon after all?” 

Rosemon sounds so confused. So helpful. And I don’t want to believe it. 

A dagger is made to cut. And this dagger is two-edged: it can cut to harm or to heal. And I have to decide which one it should be. 

“That’s not it. I just don’t think that it’s going to do what I want it to do.” 

Rosemon may not have visible eyes, but I can feel that gaze on me anyway, and I don’t like it. This is all wrong in more ways than I have words for. 

“And what is it that you want it to do?” 

I struggle for the words, because they aren’t coming. I make them come out anyway. 

“I want it to help...” 

Rosemon doesn’t look away from me. Not for a moment, and the sense of wrong just gets worse and worse. 

There’s still nothing around the two of us. Just me. Just Rosemon. Just the dagger. Hung in a space that doesn’t exist and is there anyway. 

No wind at all. And that is maybe the worst thing of all, because the wind is always supposed to be with me. I am the wind-born… 

“I want it to help me...” Again the words stumble off and I look back at the dagger. “I want it to help me help someone else.” 

“Because you’ll get your memories back?” Rosemon sounds so amused now. So confident. I’m not certain if I like that at all. 

No. I know I don’t like it. Rosemon knows far more than I do and while that isn’t wrong – Rosemon remembers and I don’t – something is wrong anyway. 

I look back at Rosemon. There is still that sense of subtle triumph hanging in the air. I have to believe in what I’m doing. 

“I won’t cut myself on that,” I finally say. “That’s not how to help Ophanimon.” 

And Rosemon’s smile is far more cutting that the edge of that dagger. 

“No, it isn’t. Because, my dear wind-born, Ophanimon doesn’t need any help at all.” Rosemon holds out one hand, the one that holds that thorny sword. “But you will shed your blood here, one way or another.” 

And all that was red turns to gray, the color of death, and I know I am in for a fight I may not win. 

**To Be Continued**

**Notes:** Next chapter will be a very special finale chapter, encompassing over four thousand words. It may take me a day or two to write it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Word Count:** 4,227|| **Story Word Count:** 15,833|| **Chapter Count:** 12/12

* * *

Speed. That is the only answer. I have to move faster than Rosemon, out-fly her, find a way to stop her that is too quick and too strong for her to stop, avoid her in every single way. 

The problem with that is that Rosemon is as fast as I am, in other ways. 

The room fills with vines, each one bearing thorns as sharp as steel, and winding my way through them is the next thing to impossible. I try, though. Because I must. 

I move forward, just managing to dart around one vine that shoots toward me nearly as fast as my wings can flutter, I’m not even certain if I miss it all the way, is that a smear of blood from the thorn? 

I don’t have time to stop and check. Looking for damage will only make more damage. So I dodge and I dart and I spin and I shout. 

“What did you do to Ophanimon?” I have only the thinnest of ties to her, that I remember, but I don’t care. 

That is the point: that I remember. What I don’t know could fill worlds and it hurts to think about those I’ve forgotten, and all I can think about them is _as_ those I don’t know. 

For all I know, Rosemon could be one of them. We could’ve been friends. Or more. Or other. 

But now Rosemon fights me with thorns and whip and blades and whatever we might’ve been is dust in the wind. What little thoughts I have time to think vanish, replaced by the simple need to survive. 

“Ophanimon is part of me now, just like you will be,” Rosemon declares, and her smile is a slash of terror and fear and hatred and triumph all in one. “You have nothing to fear, Wind-Born. Accept what is meant to be and all will be well.” 

“I don’t think so.” 

All I have time do is move and I can’t move very much, because the thorns and the vines are everywhere and the little spaces to dodge between them get smaller by the moment. 

I think I would already be dead if Rosemon didn’t want to not kill me yet. And I have no idea of why that is. 

Knowing that isn’t part of the scheme and not knowing why it isn’t is more than enough to send chills all through me. I wish I had time to think this out, but if I take so much as a moment that isn’t avoiding Rosemon’s thorn attacks, then whatever Rosemon wants is going to happen. 

I can’t see the dagger anymore. That worries me; what does Rosemon have planned for it? What has Rosemon already done with it? 

Rosemon’s breath is cold on my neck and there are so many vines in every direction; I barely have room to move, let alone avoid the attack that’s coming. 

It hits me head-on, sending me spiraling into a wall, and knocks all the breath out of me. I can see Rosemon approaching and there is that smile, speaking vibrantly of death and fear. 

I want to get up. My wings half-hide the approach, but I can still hear those footsteps, each one sounding like the end of the world. 

I won’t let this happen. I _can’t_ let this happen. 

I have to get up. 

Getting up doesn’t count as being pulled up by Rosemon, but that’s the only way I can stand. My feet don’t want to co operate. My wings flutter and I remember, somewhat vaguely, that I can fly. This is somewhat on the same par as remembering I can breath: a thing I can do but which I can’t focus on right now. 

But flying could save me, if I could do it fast enough. I’ve been flying but I haven't _gone_ anywhere. 

Rosemon stares down at me and I see that her petals are no longer red but gray as charcoal, gray as ashes, gray as death… 

“Death Rosemon...” The words just rise to my lips, as so much else has done since I became aware of myself. That is who this is. 

And there is that smile, which gets no better with reptiation. 

“I see you remember my name at last.” There is the dagger, sharp and bright in one hand, and far too close to me. “I would give you back all of your memories, but you won’t have a need for them much longer.” 

If Death Rosemon can do that… then I still wouldn’t take them, not like this. I want to know who I am, but not at that price. Whatever price would be asked here and now would be too much. 

Light catches on the dagger as it’s raised up. I don’t care what Death Rosemon wants to do with it or has done with it already. If it drinks my blood, then Death Rosemon wins, and there won’t be anyone around who can put a stop to this. 

So I do what I don’t even know if I can do, because I have to do something, and this is all that I can imagine now. The only hope that I have. 

I did this when I fought Ranamon. I don’t know how I did it then and I still don’t know, but the dagger strikes against my metallic wings as I close them between the two of us. 

Death Rosemon’s dagger falls, skittering away, and I wrench out of that grip, panting for what bits of air that I can get. 

“This will do you no good, Wind-Born,” Death Rosemon tells me, beginning to move toward the dagger at a lazy pace. “There’s nothing that you can do to stop me. I’ve drunk the power of more beings that you can imagine. Ophanimon was only the latest. All of their strength resides in me. Do you think that you can stop me?” 

At first I don’t know if I can say anything at all or what I would say if I could. But I try not to waste time thinking on it. Instead, I move forward, and seized the dagger only a heartbeat before Death Rosemon does. 

I think I’m lucky to get it by the handle. If I grabbed the blade, then whatever Death Rosemon had in mind would happen. Or have a better chance of happening. 

So I have the handle and I turn back around and I can see that glare bearing down on me. I almost wish I couldn’t, though right now, that means I’m alive, and that means I can still fight. 

For now. Whatever this other form with wings of metal and even greater speed may be, it takes a lot of strength to keep it up, and I can feel mine running out. I have to find a way to end this quickly and surely and in my favor. 

The wind gusts against me. The first time I’ve felt it doing so since this fight began. 

There are no words. Only a feeling, a sensation, and nothing more. 

To end this fight, I have to turn the dagger’s power back to Death Rosemon. I have to use the dagger on my enemy. 

I have to kill with it. 

Killing isn’t something I want to do. But there’s no other choice. There’s no other way to stop whatever plan Death Rosemon has in mind. 

Not liking it doesn’t mean that I won’t do it. It just means I won’t be able to look at myself in the mirror after this. 

That’s all right. I don’t think I want to look in the mirror and not know who I am anyway. I’ve had enough of that. But I’d rather see myself and not know myself because I don’t know, than because I did something I knew wasn’t right. 

There’s too much going on and I have to do something. Death Rosemon keeps coming toward me and each step could be the last one that I see. 

I go up. There’s not much room to maneuver, but I take what I can find, and the vines can’t go up forever, not with part of the wall destroyed now. There’s a hole that leads to the outside and there I go. 

Death Rosemon is right after me, lashing that whip, and I do everything within my power to dodge it. Getting out of its reach isn’t easy and I can feel the wind from it cracking far too close to me. 

Someone like Death Rosemon wouldn’t have a weapon like this if it didn’t have something more to it than causing pain. 

“Just give up, little wind-dancer,” Death Rosemon’s voice slides against me, and there’s that whip cracking again, too close, far too close. “If you give up and give me back my dagger, I’ll finish you quickly. You’ll feel nothing at all. You’ll be one with me, forever.” 

I can’t say that appeals to me at all. I can say the thought terrifies me, though. 

“If you don’t give it back, then I’ll finish you _slowly_. I’ll rip out every feather you have and use them to slice every part of you until you bleed. I’ll throw you into a tornado and watch you bounce from ground to cloud until you’re close to death, and then I’ll pull you out.” 

A clawed finger presses against me. I flap my wings harder; I can’t stand to be this close. 

“I’ll pull you out and I’ll find the deepest depths of the ocean to drown you in and I still won’t let you die. What’s mine is mine and everything and everyone in that dagger is mine, and so is it, so _give it back_!” 

There’s something in those words that means more than Death Rosemon wants me to know. But I fly faster and fly harder and I only think about it later, because thinking is not what I want to do now. 

The wind says to use it on Death Rosemon. My heart says something else altogether. The wind is my friend, the one that I’ve had the longest whether I can remember it or not, and can’t just toss the words aside. 

I can’t think faster than I can fly, not when flying means I have to stay ahead of Death Rosemon. Every little twitch of my wings is something to watch out for, because those claws reach for me, and I can feel the lash getting closer with each strike. 

I mustn't get hit by that. From a small crack in my memory, I know what that lash’s touch can do: anyone hit by it is forever bound to Death Rosemon, loyalty beyond life itself infusing them. 

Not today. Not ever. Not happening. 

I’m not strong enough to win this fight. I know that more than anything and I can’t give it up, won’t give it up. 

I’m high up enough now that I can see the landscape spread out beneath me. There’s a lake glittering off to one side. Is it the one I met Ranamon at? I don’t know. But seeing it reflect back the sky gives me a thought. Perhaps the best one I’ll have in all of this fight. 

Death Rosemon hasn’t hesitated for a moment, pulling up closer. 

“Even without that, I’m stronger than you’ll ever be. Victory is mine, little wind-dancer. So _give it back_.” 

“No,” I say, holding it as close as I can. “I’d rather die.” I have to believe this. I have to accept that this just might work: or worse, that it might not, and there really is no way to stop Death Rosemon. 

“I can arrange that.” 

And Death Rosemon darts forward, hands reaching, and I use one of the oldest tricks that anyone who flies can ever use. 

I drop. I drop and spin and twirl until I’m heading right for an expanse of rocks that would surely kill anyone who slammed into them at the speed that I’m going, and I can feel Death Rosemon’s stare following me for those first few moments. 

I don’t think that Death Rosemon believed that I would do this. I know I don’t believe that I’m doing this. 

But I keep going, the dagger held out, because I want it to hit the ground before I do, even if it’s only by a matter of moments. 

Death Rosemon is fast. 

I’m faster. 

There’s nothing as fast as the wind, and this is why I am the Wind-Born. Because there’s nothing as fast as I am. 

Not even Death Rosemon. 

The dagger crashes first. I don’t know if what happens next is because of it or because I hit the ground, but something happens anyway. 

There’s light. Light that pours out from everywhere and screams along with the light, as if the dagger itself – or the light because the dagger doesn’t exist anymore, shattered on stone – screams. 

A thousand screams, perhaps ten thousand, and somewhere in there I can her Ophanimon, and Death Rosemon, and there is just pain with every voice. 

Pain that rises with each moment and I can’t keep this up, I need to _rest_ but there’s no rest at all. 

I can’t move my wings. I can’t move anything. I can’t even see anything. Those screams fill my ears to the point I don’t even know if I’m hearing them or making them myself. 

And then there is no more light. No more screams. Nothing at all. And I think I like it that way. 

* * *

I don’t know how long it is before I feel anything else. When I do, it’s the wind, teasing at my hair and my feathers, as if it’s giggling at me. A soft, light giggle. A laugh between friends. 

I try to open my eyes. That isn’t a very good idea. There’s nothing but sky around me, sky and wind. 

A perfect place for me. It wouldn’t be so bad to stay here for a long time. Maybe forever. 

**Are you awake, Wind-born?**

I can’t say that I recognize the voice but I can’t say that I don’t, either. It isn’t the confusion of not remembering, though, it’s something else. 

I don’t think I’ve ever heard them before. Even when I had my memories. 

“I think so?” I look at myself. Everything seems in order, as much as I can tell. No injuries. The ones from the fight with Death Rosemon are gone. I can’t even feel where they were. I knew they were there; going in and out of those vines left a lot of marks on me. But now they’re not. 

**I’ve been waiting for you.**

“Who are you?” I don’t know if there’s any other question I could ask. Then another does come. “Did I do it? Is Ophanimon all right?” 

**You may call me… AncientIrismon.**

And then there before me is someone I’ve never seen before. I _know_ I’ve never seen them before, because even with my mind blanked entirely, I couldn’t have forgotten someone this beautiful or this powerful. 

Speed and wings and rainbows, that is all my mind can comprehend, along with beauty that would make Ranamon weep and rage, and which makes me wish I could be half as beautiful one day. 

**And yes. Ophanimon has been saved, as have all of those who were trapped by Death Rosemon’s power. You need not fear for any of them.**

I relax. At least whatever else happens to me, it was all worth it. 

“Thank you,” I whisper. “Thank you so much.” 

**But you are the one who should be thanked, Orimoto Izumi, Wind-Born, Sky-Dancer, Child of the Wind, my Fairymon, my Shutumon.** AncientIrismon smiles with those words. Each of them is me, a name, a description, part of _who I am_. 

And with each one the memories click back into place. I am the Wind-Born, born among mortals, but not one of them, raised until adulthood as one of them, until my wings grew in, and I learned to dance with the wind, to be part of it, to sing its songs and have them echo back to me. 

All the powers of the wind are mine, if to a lesser extent than AncientIrismon. 

“Mother...” 

Not as mortals think of the word, but AncientIrismon made me, crafted me from will and wind and set me among mortals to learn from them, and now I remember so much more… 

Because I chose to give up my memory, when we learned of Death Rosemon and those awful, horrible plans with the dagger, to soak up all of the power of the greatest spirits and beings that Death Rosemon could get to, and use it to destroy the world itself. 

Only by setting out tempting bait that didn’t even know it was bait could Death Rosemon have been defeated. Only by sending me, the wind’s daughter, could Death Rosemon been tempted to overreach centuries of plans, and make that final grab. 

So I was that bait and while it did not work perfectly – we hoped that Death Rosemon wouldn’t gain Ophanimon’s power and only now do I understand how close to death I came – it did work in the end. 

But where was Death Rosemon? I destroyed the dagger, which released all of the power that Death Rosemon stole from others. But that wouldn’t have killed Death Rosemon, not by itself. 

AncientIrismon touches the side of my face. **You need not worry.**

I worry anyway. Even without the dagger and all of that stolen power, Death Rosemon remains powerful and vengeful. It’s the vengeful part that I’m really worried about. 

**As I knew you would be.**

“I’m going back there.” We’re not in that world now. We’re in our world, the world of the wind. Here we can speak to one another freely, here we are almost one being. It’s different being there. I’m separate, a person of my own, which is part of why I exist in the first place. AncientIrismon – mother – needed hands and a will to work in the world and could not do it. So, I was made. This is what I’m _for_. 

**Then be strong and be quick. Death Rosemon’s power isn’t what it was, but you are still learning the reaches of yours**. 

That was a thing even before this mission. I can use the wind in ways that people who aren’t me can’t even imagine but it’s nothing compared to what Mother can do, and it’s nothing compared to what I will be able to do one day. 

If it’s enough to put an end to Death Rosemon now, I don’t know. But I have to find out, and I have to find out now. 

* * *

I can go in between worlds now, aware of who and what I am. Just a flicker, and there I am in the world I once stood in without knowing myself. 

Time isn’t the same between the worlds. I don’t know how it is different, but it seems that right now, not much has changed. 

But the one thing that has changed is what worries me the most: there’s no sign of Death Rosemon. A few ash-gray petals, but nothing more. 

I can’t finish this if that’s all I have. As much as I search around, I find no sign of Death Rosemon. 

But I do find Ranamon, and I can say for certain that it isn’t the most pleasant meeting of my entire life. 

“What are _you_ doing here?” Ranamon just glares at me as if my existence if a personal offense. It might well be, at least where they’re concerned. 

“Looking for Death Rosemon.” I see no reason to lie about it . Maybe Ranamon can help. Though I can’t say I expect it. 

Instead, I get hands on hips and a glare from crimson eyes. “And what would you do if you _succeeded_?” The water nymph doesn’t look all that impressed by me being in full awareness of who I am. 

“Whatever I had to.” I lean back and look Ranamon up and down. “Do you know anything useful?” 

A flick of Ranamon’s helmeted head. “I know everything the water knows. And the water doesn’t know anything about where Death Rosemon is.” 

Well. That’s interesting. The wind might well know, but it blows around so much that it might not know that it knows for a long time to come. You can go for a while without water, but going without _air_ is something else altogether. 

Then something else clicks. “Are you _looking_ for Death Rosemon?” 

“Of course!” Ranamon flicks one hand. “What did you think I was going to do?” 

The wind picks up, tossing my hair and feathers. Ranamon gives me a _look_. 

“Oh, don’t get all blown out of shape, Windy. I want to put an end to Death Rosemon, just like you do! The only reason I had anything at all to do with all of that was because of that dumb whip I got hit with!” Ranamon waves a taloned hand in my direction. “I want _revenge_! Now, are you going to help me with that or are you just here to blow hot air?” 

“You want me to help _you_?” I can’t quite get my head wrapped around this. It wasn’t on my list of things to believe, that’s for sure. 

Ranamon gives me another look. “Unless you don’t think that you can.” 

Well. That puts a faintly different spin on it. I pull up as tall as I can. “I think it would work better if you helped me.” 

Now Ranamon turns to glare at me even more. “Me help you? You’ve got to be kidding? Why would I want to help a blowhard like you?” 

“Is that the best insult you can come up with?” I’ve heard better. The kids where I grew up thought it was funny to call me names because I didn’t look like them and didn’t act like them, even before I grew my wings. “But if we’re going to help each other, we should get started on it. Who knows where Death Rosemon’s gone off to.” 

“Why you, I -” If it were possible for Ranamon to slay me with just vision alone, I don’t doubt for a moment I would be dead. 

If I can be dead. I’ve never asked mother if I can die. The wind is difficult to kill. 

But that’s kind of not the point. 

“So, where do you think Death Rosemon might be?” 

Ranamon folds arms over chest and glares first at me, then around to a few other places before drooping down. 

“I don’t know. I barely even know what happened. Just that one time I was doing whatever Death Rosemon wanted me to do and then I wasn’t, and I want to beat those petals right down into dust because of that!” 

I can feel for that. 

“I destroyed that dagger. That probably had something to do with it.” At least I hope it did. I can’t imagine what else it would be. But for all that I have my memories back now, I still don’t know everything abut what Death Rosemon can and can’t do. 

Ranamon makes a bit of a noise, then finally points toward the higher reaches of the mountains. “There’s a castle that way. I saw it when I was crossing over through a stream that goes through them, but I didn’t stop to ask anything. Maybe we can check there. See if anyone saw anything.” 

It’s probably the best idea that I’ve heard, let alone had, since I got back here. I nod. 

“Come on, then.” There’s not a bit of water anywhere near where we are, but Ranamon heads off as if she can just jump into the nearest glass and be right there. “The sooner we do this, the sooner I don’t have to look at your ugly face anymore.” 

“Are you going to try to spend this whole trip insulting me?” I fall in with Ranamon as we head off. I don’t know where this castle is and unless the plan is to go by water, walking will get us there as soon as anything else will. I don’t think Ranamon can fly. 

I haven’t asked, though. Wind and water can make tornadoes and hurricanes and storms, so maybe? 

“What do you mean ‘try’? I can insult you for this trip and every other trip and never repeat myself!” 

“Well, considering that all you seem to go on about is how good I look and how good you look, you might want to think about some better material.” 

Ranamon tries to say something to that, but with the way those cheeks turn red and one foot stomping, I don’t think anything will be said. But there’s something different in the way we’re talking. 

Allies would be a lot better word than friends for us: we have a common goal and we’re not stopping until we find Death Rosemon and wrap all of this up. 

I want to see more of this world, so much more. It holds so much that calls to me, and I know without a doubt, this is just the beginning. 

It might not be the beginning I would’ve planned for myself, but it’s a beginning all the same. 

**The End**

**Notes:** I really didn't want a sequel, but to properly wrap up the Death Rosemon storyline, there will be one.


End file.
